January Windfall

“It's not so bad… I suppose,” Astrid penned into her little black book. She isn’t sure how long she has owned this book, but it always seems to have one more blank page, room for one more story. It was once the keeper of inspiration and grandiose stories, now a crypt to unfinished adventures and epics turned tragedy. She gently replaces the book on her nightstand and looks at the clock; 9:17 am. Soft grey light filtering through dusty linen curtains, another snowy January morning inviting her to drift back to sleep.

“It really isn’t so bad,” she says to no one, her gaze desperately searching her new bedroom for something to make it true. The apartment was tired, walls more a cracked eggshell than white, and the worn wooden floors reminiscent of brighter times, but it was all a struggling writer in New York could hope for. Not wanting to be coaxed back into sleeping and wasting another day in bed, Astrid begrudgingly makes her way to the kitchen to make a coffee, ignoring the water-stained ceiling on her way.

Readying herself to leave her apartment used to be something Astrid looked forward to, back when New York was full of opportunity for a young and ambitious author. But now the mirror had become one of her harshest critics. Her long black hair went unkept more often than not, large round brown eyes now taking a hue of grey contrasting her pale, snow-white skin. She looked to be an aged caricature, a ghost of the beautiful young woman she had been even just a year prior. Despite the flow of time’s cruelest intentions, Astrid remained to be statuesque, something to be admired, but not touched for fear of the marble deteriorating further. Today, however, she decided it would be different. Today she wanted to reconnect with the Astrid she was in the beginning. Outwardly that wouldn’t entail much beyond a shower, a straightener, and a light application of foundation, inwardly however would demand more moxie.

Her early 20s had been a time of moderate literary success; publication of a novel and a few anthologies. Now at 27, she was losing momentum and money was low, forcing her out of Chelsea and into smaller, less agreeable quarters in Harlem. This upheaval softened only by the fact her subjects and inspirations had always been the people in this cast of life and she would now be living amongst them. She would sit at street-side cafes or on park benches for hours, jotting notes in her little black book, creating narratives and stories for each person who caught her eye; each person prompting a moment of sonder. She never had any intention of actually speaking to the people she wrote about, the act of ordering a coffee alone terrified her, let alone interviewing someone; she was a true introvert and preferred people through the scope of her imagination.

The sun shining, a gentle dusting of snow, and the crisp New York morning air; something akin to diesel and sugarcane she thought to herself. The symphony of traffic and people speaking too loudly with an all-so-important sense of entitlement was something Astrid had become accustomed to on her morning commute. The walk from her Harlem apartment to her café of choice on the corner of 119th st adjacent to Morningside Park was a pleasant one. The coffee shop typically had sparse business late morning and provided an ample view of the park and this morning was no different. She shared the cafe patio with one other businessman who was consumed by his work, effectively leaving Astrid alone to observe the snow-laden park from her corner table.

It wasn’t until the chill of winter had sunk into Astrid’s hands did she realize how much time had elapsed on that patio. 4:47 pm, almost closing time, and time to make her way home as dusk had come early and was soon to give way to night.

“Looks like you’re almost out of paper,” a voice pointed out from over her shoulder. “Do you bring extra when you’re out skulking around watching people?” It was the businessman from the other side of the patio. He wasn’t a handsome man, but certainly not unattractive. Salt and pepper hair leached into his beard, he had the tired eyes of a man who spent extended periods behind a screen.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astrid sputtered.

“What for?” the man laughed. Astrid quickly collecting her belongings into her bag making to leave.

“I don’t know, I’m just in a bit of a hurry,” she replied. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Hey! You dropped this,” he called after her.

“Windfall, by Jennifer E. Smith,” Astrid whispered. “This isn’t my book.”

“Well it's not mine, and it was at the table you just left,” he returned. “It's Will by the way.

“Okay, thank you... Will,” Astrid responded, simply to put an end to the conversation and to be free to begin her walk home.

Tonight she wouldn’t take her normal route home, but instead the trek through the snowy park, enjoying the evening and prolonging her freedom from her withered apartment.

“Wins $32,000,000…” Astrid whispers to herself as she reads the synopsis of her new book on her walk home. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Absentmindedly leafing through the pages she notices two bookmarks. Not bookmarks. Bills. Two $10,000 bills. “I didn’t even know these existed,” she gasped. She had never held so much money in her hands at one time.

This would write an entirely new chapter for Astrid, a stay of execution in a matter of speaking. With this, she would be able to erase the stack of “past due” envelopes that littered her kitchen. With this, she would be able to move back to her old haunt. With this, she could begin again.

She looked around in disbelief to find herself alone. Twilight had been replaced by the early evening, and she stood alone amongst trees. Faint light bleeding from the street lamps and a cold chill in the air. Pangs of conflict sunk into Astrid. It had been years since she had any semblance of a victory in her life, and she had long since abandoned herself to a rainy state of lethargy. She knew someone had to be looking for this book. But does she go back to the café and try to return it or simply accept it as a gift from the universe? She stood staring at the literal Windfall she held in her hands, unsure of whether to go forward or back.

“You have it,” came the yells of a woman running down the snow-covered path. “I have been absolutely losing my mind looking for this!”

“Oh,” Astrid exhaled. Even in the low light, Astrid could tell this was a vibrant woman to the point of almost unhinged. No one in New York was this chipper. As she stepped into the light, Astrid was struck by her piercing blue eyes, sloped nose, and porcelain skin all perfectly framed by a mane of golden curls.

“I’ll just take that back,” she smiled, quickly and effortlessly removing the book from Astrid’s grip. “I need to give you a hug” she exclaimed. Before Astrid had a chance to respond the woman wrapped herself around her.

“You two sure took your time on that patio,” the stranger whispered into Astrid’s ear. Her voice now much more even and slow, the warmth and vibrancy stripped away. Panic reached into Astrid’s chest as she tried to remove the woman’s hold on her. “I’d ask you to tell Will stealing is wrong, but I doubt you’ll get the chance.”

“Wait, what do you…” Astrid choked out as she felt the cold sting of metal pierce her side.

Astrid was paralyzed, unsure if minutes had elapsed or hours, but the woman was gone. Now no longer holding the book whose contents would’ve changed her life, but laying in the snow staring up into the dark sky. “This isn’t a kind way to go,” Astrid thought to herself. The soft snow once again inviting her to simply fall back asleep and forget all her problems, the pristine white of winter long turned crimson.

“It's not so bad… I suppose.”